


Deceleration

by Livruka



Category: Free!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flight Attendants, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pilots, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livruka/pseuds/Livruka
Summary: Only when a low voice resounds through the empty cabin does he turn, palms suddenly sweaty.“How are your feet?“ The captain's jacket is slung over one arm, clearly dismissed as being too warm, but Haru looks good in his white shirt and dark blue dress pants, and Makoto's eyes catch on his cufflinks. Small, silver airplanes. He wears them underneath the jacket to avoid the clash of silver against the golden insignia on his sleeves and belt, but they're visible now, gleaming in the bright overhead light. Instinctively Makoto finds the pins fastened to his collar again.Tired amusement is tugging at Haru's lips, corners of his mouth curled into the most handsome smile Makoto can imagine, and he beams.“Steamy,“ He replies and watches Haru's face split open as he laughs, quiet but with obvious mirth. Makoto joins in, brushing the crumbs from the seat to his right before turning away. He stands at full height, careful not to hit his head at the luggage rack, and walks down the aisle to where Haru exited the cockpit.The Pilot / Flight attendant AU that's been consuming my mind for weeks and demanded to be written. In which Makoto is embracing the chance to spend off time with his husband.





	Deceleration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunny_Chan_San](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunny_Chan_San/gifts).



> This is my entry for the [ MakoHaru Gift Exchange 2018](https://datheetjoella.tumblr.com/tagged/mhgiftexchange2018) over on Tumblr, gifted to [ Bunny_Chan_San](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunny_Chan_San/pseuds/Bunny_Chan_San) ([ Binyeum](https://binyeum.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr).
> 
> Their requests included uniforms, fluff, nsfw content and any sort of situation that would include Haru carrying Makoto. Haru smiling at unsuspecting Makoto, jealous Haru, domestic scenes and Haru pining over oblivious Makoto were also among the prompts, and I tried my best to weave them all together. (I'm so sorry I didn't manage to include all your requested topics, but I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing!)
> 
> Note: Makoto and Haru have been married for six years, so this is an established relationship. They're also at least in their late twenties, if not in their thirties (I haven't specified their age, so interpretation is up to you!).

It's a busy flight.  
Makoto knows and likes the route, appreciates the chance to see Europe when they arrive, but the European passengers are often more difficult to handle than the Asian or American ones he deals with on a regular basis. He's fluent in English and German, but French is still a mystery to him, and so he calls up one of the other attendants when the lady from seat 11D starts ranting at him _again_. Sighing, he withdraws into the galley to prepare lunch for the family in row 7, knowing full well that the twins, eight years old at best, will start fighting over whose share is bigger, just as they did with their breakfast. His cheeks are hurting from the smile that is basically stuck to his face by this point, but they're far from clocking out.

Makoto has taken his break six hours into the trip, and even though he's grateful for the chance at resting, his neck still cracks whenever he turns his head after napping in the bunk bed. Four hours of sleep may not seem like much, but to a flight attendant they mean the world, the difference between recharging the batteries and social exhaustion, between just-barely-hanging-in-there and impending madness.  
He's tired, but long-haul flights are still his favorite thing in the world for several reasons: He gets to see the world, to meet people from different cultures and backgrounds, although chances to hit them up for a chat are scarce and far-inbetween. Passengers change between flights, and so does the crew more often than not. It's rare for personnel to remain the same for more than two flights at a time. Still, work is fun to Makoto. 

They're just two hours from Paris now and the children are getting impatient. The bell rings for the fourth time in the last minute, just as the coffee and hot cocoa are done. Smile slipping back into place, Makoto exits the galley with his tray to serve the drinks before picking up the plates. The flight has been smooth and he really can't complain. Outside the windows he can see the sea of clouds passing by, a quiet ocean they're floating upon, and he's surprised to find the twins with their faces glued to the glass, momentarily tame in their shared admiration for the view.  
Even after years of flying, Makoto can understand their fascination with the sight. He doesn't feel like he'll ever get used to it himself, the vast diversity of weather and atmosphere, of forces they're exposed to up here. He's never been scared of the height or the danger, although he remembers his stomach tumbling to the bottom of his seat on his first take-off. The anxiety faded with experience, but the twin boys' excited chattering reminds him of the joy that comes with the realization that you're actually flying. When he serves their drinks, Makoto's smile is genuine, and the twins' mother returns it with an attempt at thanking him in English while the father tries to get the boys to sleep.

Makoto spends the rest of the flight checking on the passengers and their luggage, returning a pair of red high heels to the elderly lady in seat 2A and picking up the waste that's inevitably strewn everywhere after well over twelve hours spent on the plane.  
Exhaustion is starting to wear on him again by the time he picks up the cabin mic to make the announcement for the upcoming landing. With an easy smile he waves off a man's concerned questions about the pilots' ability to bring them back down to earth without incident. He'd trust them with his life, he says and means it. The man doesn't seem convinced at first but is reassured by the voice resounding through the radio just moments after he sits back down, quiet and confident.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your captain speaking. We're currently cruising at an altitude of 33,000 feet at an airspeed of 400 miles per hour.“ Makoto can hear the twins gasp before they nudge each other with excited whispering, and he feels his smile widen into a grin. “The time is 4:20 pm. The sky is clear and with the tailwind on our side we are expecting to land in Paris ahead of schedule. The weather in Paris is clear and sunny, with a high of 27 degrees for this afternoon. I trust that the cabin crew is providing you with everything you might need and will continue to do so until we land. Until we reach our destination, sit back, relax and enjoy the rest of the flight.“

And really, the man does sit back, expression clearly one of quiet relaxation. Makoto's heart is full when he turns to retrieve a passenger's bag from the top rack for them. He runs a finger along the silver pins fastened to his collar while he answers the man's questions about sightseeing at Paris almost absentmindedly, finding and tracing the shapes of two small planes with the pad of his index.  
He knows who the captain is, and he's thrilled to be sharing this route with him today.

Coming into land, the crew assumes their seats, and Makoto feels excitement pumping through his veins when they drop low enough to get a good look at the Parisian skyline. He can't help thinking about how lucky he is to be here right now, despite how tired he feels. His feet seem to have their own pulse in his shoes by now and he can't wait to shower, but really, who is he to complain?  
Charles de Gaulle Airport comes into sight as they circle lower and excitement hums through the cabin, sometimes nervous, sometimes elated, but definitely buzzing with life. Makoto loves this moment, loves the feeling of blood rushing in his ears, pressure building until the wheels hit the ground with a resounding _thump_ , shaking the cabin as the plane brakes sharply. There's applause when they slow down, and Makoto bites back a smirk. He knows most pilots don't care half as much for the appreciation as the passengers would like to think, and the ones steering the plane right now even less so. Still he thinks it's a nice gesture.

-

De-boarding takes place as soon as the plane has been maneuvered into position. Many passengers are tired, and Makoto can relate. Some approach him with questions regarding connections or luggage retrieval, and he answers them patiently while two of the other flight attendants check the cabin for lost property. It doesn't take long for the passengers to file out, the crew is quick to follow, and Makoto waves a cordial greeting at one of the pilots who exits the cockpit early. He's staying behind, refilling the galley with remaining snacks and cleaning out the seats in row 7 where the kids have spread their snacks all across the area.

Only when a low voice resounds through the empty cabin does he turn, palms suddenly sweaty.  
“How are your feet?“ The captain's jacket is slung over one arm, clearly dismissed as being too warm, but Haru looks good in his white shirt and dark blue dress pants, and Makoto's eyes catch on his cufflinks. Small, silver airplanes. He wears them underneath the jacket to avoid the clash of silver against the golden insignia on his sleeves and belt, but they're visible now, gleaming in the bright overhead light. Instinctively Makoto finds the pins fastened to his collar again.  
Tired amusement is tugging at Haru's lips, corners of his mouth curled into the most handsome smile Makoto can imagine, and he beams.  
“Steamy,“ He replies and watches Haru's face split open as he laughs, quiet but with obvious mirth. Makoto joins in, brushing the crumbs from the seat to his right before turning away. He stands at full height, careful not to hit his head at the luggage rack, and walks down the aisle to where Haru exited the cockpit. 

When Haru squares his shoulders for a formal greeting, Makoto responds with a playful bow.  
“Captain,“ He hums and feels the huff of laughter from Haru on his hair as the smaller man leans in to press his lips against Makoto's forehead. Glancing up, he finds Haru is looking at him from where he stands, but he's edged considerably closer, turning the dark blue cap in his hands. He's still smiling when he reaches up to pull the captain's hat over Makoto's hair, hand cupping the back of his head to haul him in for a kiss. There's an awkward moment of confusion when Haru can't seem to meet his lips, but Makoto tilts his head for them to avoid colliding with the cap's peak.

They've been married for a little over six years but often forced to spend weeks apart from each other, each committed to their own assigned flight routes. It's an unfortunate aspect of their job, but they've gotten used to it, embracing whatever time they can spend together, be it at home or at a hotel between flights. Tonight, they'll sleep at their favorite Parisian hotel, and Makoto has been looking forward to this for months.

Haru breathes a kiss against his chin as he withdraws, blue eyes looking him up and down. He hums, taking a step forward and sliding his hand into Makoto's. With a slow twist of his hips that shifts his weight towards the exit he indicates that he's ready to de-board.  
“You would have made a fine captain,“ He almost sounds offended as he looks him up and down. Makoto rolls his eyes and shakes his head until the cap starts slipping to one side and Haru has to pluck it off.  
“I didn't want to be one, you know that.“ It's true, he might have made a good pilot, but Makoto embraces his job for what it is: an exhausting mix of service and organization that leaves him tired but happy to be a part of it all at the end of the day. It's a sociable job, the kind of work that allows him to work with people while watching the clouds drift by from above, and it's fulfilling on most days. He loves it.

Passport control is surprisingly quick and they've collected their bags less than 20 minutes after leaving the plane. Makoto's hand is buried in his pocket, not clasped in Haru's hand anymore, and he's missing the familiar warmth of their linked fingers, but they're being stared at for their appearance as it is. Haru dodges a little girl's flailing arms with practiced ease and she looks after him with awe, eyes blinking wide as she takes in his uniform. A French flight attendant greets them in passing, bowing respectfully to Haru, and Makoto waves back, suddenly relieved he doesn't share her fate of wearing heels for work.  
They take a cab to the Latin Quarter, shoulders slumping when the exhaustion finally sets in, but when Makoto finds Haru's eyes in the darkness of the car, they're bright with anticipation and promise. Haru's hand slides over, brushing over his knee and up along his thigh to rub some of the tension out of his legs. He jerks in surprise when the taxi driver asks if they want to stop somewhere for food, but they decline politely. Their room comes with food service, _good_ food service, and they intend to make use of it.

Haru pays for the drive while Makoto lugs their trolleys out of the car, waving off the driver's attempt at helping them with a polite smile. He's good at these.  
Two page boys dart from the hotel's lobby when they approach, taking the luggage from Makoto with bright greetings and deep bows. One of them throws a quick glance over his shoulder to wink at Makoto. Makoto expects Haru's fuming sigh before he hears it. He lifts a brow at his husband but is met with an indignant glare and silence until they've checked into the hotel and the receptionist gives him a quick once-over before turning to pick up their chipcards.

“Can't they stop doing that?“ Haru's voice is icy, but there's an underlying edge that tells Makoto he's everything but emotionally cold. He's reaching for Haru's fingers just as the receptionist returns with their smart cards and the codes for the safe. Unimpressed by the surprised look she shoots them, he curls his fingers into Haru's palm, gently brushing the back of his hand with his thumb.

“I'm sorry,“ He means it, but Haru is still upset.  
With a heated stare at the receptionist, he picks up both cards along with the documents and stomps over to the elevators. “The rest of the crew gets to spend so much more time with you.“ He's pouting at the elevator, as if staring at the button will call it on, and Makoto smiles at the page boy who skips up to the control stand immediately.

“Sure they do, Haru-chan,“ He replies easily and squeezes Haru's hand as it tenses, “It's their job to work with me, just as it's mine to work with them.“ There's an unhappy huff from Haru when the corners of his lips twist. He knows this, still he doesn't like it.  
Makoto's everyday life consists of socializing with everyone but Haru, and it's always been a challenge to balance their private life against their jobs. Days off are spent sleeping off the chronic fatigue they cultivate on every stretch of long-distance flights, cleaning the house and planning for the next trips. Chances to indulge in intimacy or shared activities are scarce and far-inbetween. It's difficult sometimes, and Makoto has considered taking over his mom's flower shop for a couple years now, but he still loves his line of work too much to really drop out just yet. Haru wouldn't either, and so they have to make do with what time they're given.  
A muttered, “Drop the -chan,“ is the only reply Haru gives.

When they step into the elevator and the doors close behind them, Makoto wraps both arms around Haru's middle, pulling him close despite the guaranteed stare of the page boy who's operating the elevator. Haru smells faintly like cologne and Makoto nuzzles his face against his jaw to take a deep breath. For a moment it feels like Haru will withdraw, then his fingers climb Makoto's neck and start combing through the thick hair at the back of his head. With a quiet sigh he lets go of the tension, shoulders dropping with the weight of his exhaustion, and Makoto hums appreciatively.  
They stand like this until the bell chimes and alerts them to the elevator's arrival at their floor. Hesitantly they let go of each other and Makoto passes a smile to the page who bows deeply before returning his attention to the operation panel. They can hear the elevator doors close as they walk down the hallway, steps muffled by the wine red carpet.

The door is dark, made of walnut from the looks of it, and embellished with their room number in golden lettering. _206._ Makoto eyes the numbers for a moment before turning to Haru with a look he trusts is mildly hopeful. Haru raises one brow, then the other, before the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement.  
“Really?“ He cracks a smile. “Will you ever let this go?“  
Makoto crosses both arms and curls his lips in to hide a smirk. He's supposed to be sulking, damn it.

It's a game they've been playing for as long as they've been married, and each time they arrive at a new hotel Haru acts like he doesn't want to keep indulging in it when really he does. Makoto himself enjoys every second of it.  
“You promised,“ He insists and bites his tongue to swallow a chuckle at the exasperated look Haru gives him, “For better or worse, you would be by my side, and you'd carry me if I ever grew weak.“  
Haru throws up a hand, but the way his lips curl betrays his entertainment.  
“You're horrible,“ He objects but still moves to bend down, one arm wrapping around Makoto's back, the other one hoisting him up by the knees. The smile is evident on his features now, and Makoto has to reach for the door to slide his smart card along the scanner.

There's a special kind of dignity to being brought into every new room they sleep in, being carried over the threshold once more whenever they share a bed. Makoto's heart jumps up his throat every time it happens and this is no exception. Glowing with the memory of the first time Haru carried him over the threshold, he tilts his husband's head back with a gentle nudge of his hand, cupping his cheek in the process. Haru sets him down on the edge of the bed, mattress caving under their shared weight when Makoto pulls him into his lap to kiss him. He must be grinning like a proper idiot when their lips meet because Haru pulls away and stretches off the side of the bed to pick his hat up from where the pages set it down, dragging it over Makoto's head and down to cover most of his face in a display of fond exasperation. For the moment, Makoto is effectively blinded, and he shivers at the feeling of Haru's mouth on his while Haru's weight shifts in his lap until he's straddling him.  
Haru tastes like coffee and lemons, breath warm on Makoto's face whenever they break apart to gasp for air, but their kisses are slow and sweet. Fatigue makes their bones weary and their movements sluggish, and Makoto is only half disappointed when Haru takes the cap off his head, depositing it on the nightstand as he's looking at him with a look of adoration. Tired, he slides down, arms wrapping around Makoto's neck as he buries his face against his shoulder.

Makoto sighs contentedly and takes the chance to look around. The room is a different one from the one they booked the last time they stayed around, but it looks very similar. The king-size bed claims the center of the room, white sheets firmly tucked around the mattress. Dark red bedspreads match the bedside rugs, a fitting addition to the wooden furniture and floor. Thick red satin lines the windows opening out into the impressive yard built around a massive fountain that is shaped like a small Eiffel Tower. The first time they walked across the lawn, Makoto had to catch Haru by the arm to keep him from stepping into it. Fondly he remembers the look of betrayal on Haru's face, and he's still looking out the window when Haru's hands find his waist, fingers brushing along the hem of the dark blue flight attendant vest Makoto has yet to rid himself of.  
“Let's go to the pool,“ He whispers as if he was riding the same train of thought as Makoto. Haru's face is close enough for goose bumps to erupt along the base of Makoto's neck when he speaks. “We have time.“ He's right, Makoto realizes immediately, and his mind supplies a memory of the incredible Hammam pool in the building's basement. His aching muscles yearn for some relief, so he nods eagerly.

-

The Hammam is located in the fitness and respite area of the hotel, and Makoto is almost tempted to take a trip to the steam room but dismisses the thought for Haru's sake. As much as they both enjoy floating in any body of water, as little does Haru appreciate the heat in steam baths or saunas.  
Thankfully they're alone, the Hammam a quiet oasis after the stressful day, and Makoto silently thanks his intuition for reserving the pool for tonight. The bath is small, although not too small for more than two people, but he suspected they might enjoy a recreational dip during their stay. _Good job, self._

They undress together, bodies impossibly close as they slowly peel each other's clothes off one piece at a time. Makoto's vest comes off first, and he rolls his shoulders while Haru folds it carefully and slides it into the laundry bag they bring for every long-haul flight. He pulls Haru's shirt out of his pants with practiced ease, fingers finding the buttons blindly. Haru's eyes are on Makoto's face as he opens them one by one, blue irises flickering with the light of half a dozen rock salt lamps that are mounted along the walls. They meet for a kiss, careful and almost chaste in how quickly it's over, but Makoto enjoys these quiet moments more than he can tell. His hands land on Haru's wrists, thumbs brushing over the cufflinks before he opens them and slides them into the side pocket of the laundry bag. Haru follows his movements with his eyes, a small smile playing over his face.

“I remember the night you gave me those,“ He says, voice low with the weight of the memory. It's a night Makoto will never forget, the night Haru carried him over their house's threshold for the first time, laughing and crying at the same time. Makoto inclines his head, momentarily lost in thought, but the way Haru's eyes crinkle keeps him grounded in the present. His memories roll by in a flurry of colors and feeling, and the surge of emotion demands his attention, but Haru is there, he's always been there, and brushes his lips against Makoto's. His eyes shine a little too brightly when he takes Makoto's face in both of his hands and finds his mouth again, breath hitching when Makoto tilts his head to one side, deepening their kiss. They revel in each other for a moment, and Makoto stills when Haru drops his hands to his collar to find the pins on either side, opening them with nimble fingers. He rolls them in his palm for a moment, and their eyes meet above the small silver planes, forever linked in aviation. Makoto startles a laugh when Haru reaches up with his free hand to caress his cheek and it comes away wet.  
“Yeah,“ He finally says. His voice sounds husky. “I remember it too.“

They kiss once more, then Haru puts the pins into the side pocket with his cufflinks. Makoto watches him, incredibly grateful for so many little things. _All the little things._  
Gently he starts undoing the knot of Haru's dark tie, and the way Haru tips his head to lean into the touch of his fingers is just short of blissful. The shirt comes off after the tie, and Makoto's nose brushes along the prominent line of a collarbone until Haru twitches with poorly veiled laughter. Hands find his collar and start undoing his tie, continuing their way down the front even as he snatches a kiss from Haru's lips, stealing the pout and another breath of warm lemon taste from them. For a few beats Haru lingers on his chest, hands sprawling across the wide planes of his pecs with an appreciative hum, then Makoto lifts his hands up by the wrists and kisses the knuckles of each finger before sliding down. He kneels to open Haru's belt and waistband, smiling at the shivers racing up and down Haru's legs as he exposes them. He takes a moment to admire the muscled curve of Haru's calves, fingers tracing the line of his shins down to his ankles before he starts untying his shoes. Haru mutters a complaint when Makoto sets to pulling them off, but Makoto waves him off, making short work of both shoes and socks underneath. The legs of his pants follow suit.

When he stands, Haru's hands are on his waist immediately. The warm light makes his face glow, shadows accentuating his cheek bones and the line of his jaw. He's beautiful, Makoto thinks for the umpteeth time in this life, and he tells him with a bashful smile. Haru rolls his eyes, but there is no sting in the gesture, soft pout an obvious hint at how he's really feeling about this sort of compliment. Makoto runs a hand along his spine, rubbing small circles around each of the bumps while Haru slides a finger into his waistband and _tugs_. The loss of balance is so unexpected that Makoto trips towards him, but Haru catches him with a hand on his chest and a kiss to the forehead. They're both chuckling when Haru curls a finger behind his belt again, gently tugging for Makoto to lean in, and this time he follows. Their breaths mingle, foreheads brushing, until Haru drops to his knees. Under different circumstances Makoto would have been aroused, but the knowledge that they're opting for the pool keeps the thrill of anticipation in check.  
Deft fingers slip the belt from its buckle before tugging at the front of his pants again. The smirk Haru gives him when Makoto shifts his weight to prevent another embarassing bout of staggering is smug, and he huffs. How does this man shake him so easily when his footing is excellent in mid-air?

When Haru pulls the shoes off Makoto's feet, his shoulders hunch and he stares at the offensive pieces of clothing.  
“Steamy, alright,“ He groans, and Makoto laughs. He kicks the shoes off to the side and combs through Haru's hair from above. The hum he receives in return sounds like a purr, making him bend down to sink both hands into the black strands, massaging along Haru's scalp until he elicits the same noise again. Haru is melting into his touch, hands idly running up his thighs until he finds enough focus to pull the pants off, closely followed by the socks that he flings into their laundry bag with a disgusted snarl. Makoto is still snickering, but he has to admit that the tiles feel good against his abused soles.  
Haru squeezes his thigh as he gets to his feet, fingers playing with the edges of Makoto's shorts. Makoto nods his approval and allows Haru to pull them off, who is careful not to make the waistband catch on any of his private parts. Makoto returns the favor with a long look at the bulging front before he drags the black briefs down and drops them into the laundry bag along with his own.

They shower quickly before wrapping themselves in bath towels. Two massage therapists are waiting for them when they enter the pool area, rinsing bowls and water pitchers at the ready. Haru is beaming at the bright blue surface of the bath, and he skips the relaxation phase in favor of dipping into the pool immediately. One of the therapists eyes him critically, but Haru is unfazed. The body scrubs, sure. Soaking, rinsing and massages? Yes, please. Delaying the full-body bath? Never.  
Makoto smiles softly when he hears the splashing from the pool, sinking deeper into the pre-heated cushions of the relaxation lounger. He can already feel his eyes drooping, the long day finally taking its toll on his energy levels, but he doesn't mind. The therapists keep an eye on the clock, he knows, they will wake him if necessary.

They indulge in the first full-body scrub together. Haru shivers when Makoto rubs the peeling over his shoulders and down into the small of his back, jolting with a breathless chuckle as some of the crumbs fall into the crack below. Makoto smiles around a yawn, scrubbing him down with a a soft sponge. When it's Haru's turn to spread the peeling on Makoto, he takes it slow. One of the hammam attendants offers his help, but Haru denies him with a quick shake of his head. Makoto recognizes the grim possessiveness in his expression, but he doesn't object. Haru is right to lay his claim on him, they've traded their promises years ago.  
It's almost endearing how Haru refuses to use the glove or even a sponge to scrub Makoto down, and his hands are red by the time he's done with his back, but Makoto knows better than to argue with his stubborn determination in cases like this. It won't harm him in the long run, so he leaves him be.

Rinsing is Haru's favorite part in the peeling process, and he allows one of the attendants to pour the hot water for him. Makoto reaches over to indicate that Haru prefers the cold water, and even though the man regards him with confused disbelief, he rinses Haru with the content of one of the cooled bowls next. It's a common reaction, surprise and bewilderment meet them on every visit to an institution like this one. Makoto has gotten used to it, having grown up with Haru's peculiar preferences before they even knew how to fall in love.  
The second scrub makes his neck feels like it's too worn out to carry the weight of his head anymore, and Haru sprawls out where he sits, towel slipping from his lap, but he doesn't pay it any mind. Exhaustion levels are climbing higher as they progress, but Makoto is enjoying this too much to put an early end to it. Only when Haru's weight grows heavy against his shoulder on their second circle of rinsing does Makoto realize that they're nearing their limits. Smiling, he wraps an arm around Haru and pulls him up as he stands, lifting his limp body to carry him to the massage area.

Typically Haru would watch, eagle-eyed, to make sure the massage therapist doesn't touch Makoto inappropriately – as if they would, really – but he's too far down the sleepy lane to really care today. Before their first trip to a Hammam, Makoto didn't know what to expect, didn't feel comfortable undressing in public. Haru was mostly curious, he remembers, and immediately sold when he laid eyes on the pool. Massages are something they both learned to love with time, after long flights especially. It's a blessing to feel the kinks in their muscles melting into thin air, to doze off with complete relaxation already at the tips of their fingers.  
It lasts too long to stay awake, but not long enough to rest properly, and Haru looks a little disgruntled underneath the mess of his bangs when he sits up. His eyes are dark, deep fatigue pooling in his irises as he slips from the massage table. Makoto is rubbing his neck, completely boneless after being pampered like they were, but he's slowly waking to the grumbling of his stomach. Haru throws him a quick glance, brows raised in a questioning gesture, and Makoto nods slowly, “I really think we should.“  
That spikes another wave of confused expressions on the attendants' faces, but Makoto is too tired to bother explaining. Instead he raises two fingers. “Can we have two dinner plates for room 206?“  
Haru adds, “With food, please,“ And Makoto chuckles.

Freshly showered, they make their way back up to the second floor wrapped in bathrobes and fluffy towels, and when Makoto realizes they forgot the laundry bag in the locker, he can't bring himself to walk all the way back. He's walking on rubber legs, his feet not painful but clearly exhausted. Haru appears to be feeling very similiar, despite spending the majority of the flight seated, and he groans when they reach the door.  
“No carrying now,“ His voice is almost pleading, and Makoto cracks a small smile.  
“No carrying,“ He repeats and walks in by himself.

They have dinner in bed, and when Haru spills a spoonful of soup onto the bedspread, they both laugh it off. Neither of them put their clothes back on, lounging against the headboard clad in bathrobes that are slowly unraveling the further they sink into the pillows. Makoto nods off twice during their main course, and Haru feeds him with grilled tuna and tomatoes. It's well into the meal that Makoto realizes Haru is feeding him lemon aioli along with the vegetables. Offended, he stares him down, but Haru waves it off as a needless concern by this point. They're not going to go back to work for the next 48 hours, and he intends to make good use of this chance. For a moment Makoto considers hitting him with a pillow because he is fairly sure Haru didn't consider that _before_ feeding him the aioli, but ends up shaking it off, clambering over the pillow mountain to snatch a kiss. It tastes fishy, and even more like lemon than before. The garlic is lost on his abused taste buds.  
The crème caramel that is served for dessert is still warm when it arrives, and Makoto gets to eat both his and Haru's pot. He complains at first – _Haru, you'll make me gain weight again!_ -, but when Haru starts stealing a bit of each spoonful from his mouth, he goes quiet.

For a while they enjoy the quiet of their room, but when Haru starts sliding down Makoto's side, he gets up to place the trays of food back on the dining car and put it out into the hall. His movements are slow and heavy when he dozes his way through his bed time routines. Haru is fast asleep by the time he returns to the bed, still sprawled across the bedspread, and Makoto picks him up a second time that day – this time he feels much heavier, if only due to the food in his stomach – to carry him into the bathroom.  
Back in bed, they drop the bathrobes onto the floor, and while Haru mumbles something about picking them up in the morning, Makoto isn't even sure if they'll wake before noon. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it's just past 9 pm, but at home in Japan it would be 4 in the morning. The distinctive sense of longing makes his chest tingle, but it dies down quickly when Haru turns into him, legs sliding between his thighs, face dropping to the crook of Makoto's neck. There is nothing to miss when Haru is with him like this, and Makoto hums a quiet melody of everything and nothing to the setting sun while Haru curls into him, breath evening out.

-

The first time Makoto wakes, the sun is already poking its rays into the room. Haru is fast asleep by his side, an arm slung low over Makoto's waist, hair a silky mess around his face. Gently Makoto brushes a few loose strands from his forehead and nose and is rewarded when Haru presses one cheek into his palm, whole form deflating with a blissful sigh. Smiling, he peers over at the clock and finds that it's not even 8 am. He represses a groan and rolls over so the sun is at his back, pulling Haru along until he's tucked safely against the back of Makoto's neck. Haru's arm sneaks over Makoto's side, and he watches it for a long moment as it's circling his waist. Birds are chirping outside, but noise isn't something that can keep Makoto awake, not with Haru pressed up against him like this. The quiet rhythm of Haru's breathing lulls him back to sleep.

When he wakes again, his skin tingles with the warmth of the room. For a moment he is disoriented, haze in his brain only clearing up with minutes passing. The opposing wall is tinted a bright red from the light of day, much more intense than it was when he first opened his eyes. He is comfortable, stretching his legs from thigh to toe with languid movements, mind still pleasantly blurry. He can't see the clock, and the weight at his back is gone.  
Confused, Makoto rolls onto his back, blinking against the light to find the clock on the wall. 11:27. A low hum greets him from the side. He blinks slowly, sluggishly, to find Haru is watching him. The sun is making his face glow with the beginning of a new day, strands of black a mess that is plastered to his forehead but sticks out at his temples. He's pouting a little as the sun tickles his nose, cheeks showing the slightest dimples. Makoto extends a hand to run a finger along Haru's jaw and feels it flex when Haru smiles, lips curling in that particular way Makoto has always been weak to. Small wrinkles line the corners of Haru's eyes when they crinkle with the smile, and Makoto could swear he's never seen anything more beautiful. 

He shifts closer and pulls Haru in for the first kiss of this morning. Their noses brush and Haru sneezes, forehead bumping into Makoto's as he jerks with it. For a second they're both startled and Makoto can see the question in Haru's concerned look when his head snaps back up to stare at him: _Did I hurt you?_

Instead of finding words for a reply, Makoto smiles reassuringly, and the worry fades from Haru's eyes, leaving them impossibly bright in the sunlight. He cups his cheek with one hand and leans in again, tip of his nose nudging Haru's for a second before he tilts his head to one side and allows their lips to touch, slowly at first, then more insistent. Impatient. 

Haru sighs against his mouth, one leg sliding over Makoto's waist, heel pressing into the small of his back. Makoto hums with the jolt of pleasure this elicits from his lower belly and pushes back into the pressure. There's a quiet snort he recognizes as deep amusement, but he smothers it with his lips. Another chuckle is muffled by Haru's own arms wrapping around Makoto's neck, pulling him closer as he surges against the other's mouth. The kiss sweeps through his whole body when their hips touch. Every inhale pushes their chests together, and Haru matches that rhythm when he starts sucking bruising patterns down Makoto's collar line, well knowing that Makoto will have to wear a necktie on their return flight. 

Makoto doesn't care. He feels his body moving into Haru on its own, heat pooling in their shared warmth and passing through their kisses. Heat trickles through his belly, and when Haru runs his heel down to squeeze between his buttocks, Makoto feels his breath hitch. Haru smirks against his chest before pressing his mouth to Makoto's pulse point and sucking there. Makoto jerks, neck a vulnerable spot to him, and goose bumps race down his throat even when Haru lets go and meets his lips for another kiss that crushes all sense of reason or responsibility.

_We're free_ , Makoto realizes offhandedly, _today is ours_ , and he opens his mouth in a silent invitation Haru accepts all too readily.  
It's a given for them to be granted a day off or two after a long-haul flight like the one that brought them here, and they've learned to take advantage of the time given. Catching up on sleep is a general desire for all crew members, but once that need is sated, everyone has their own way to spend the time. For Makoto, it doesn't matter where he wakes, as long as it's with Haru by his side. Haru, he knows, feels the same. Home is where they are together, even though they're both happy to return to Iwatobi when they're off for more than a few days.

For the time being, neither of them really minds the shared room at the hotel, and Haru's hand finds Makoto's crotch to effectively derail his train of thought. He startles, lips parting around the kiss to gasp for air, and Haru uses this moment to climb on top of him, straddling Makoto's lap with both legs. Instinctively Makoto finds his thighs, kneading around and up the muscled curve of Haru's ass, and Haru's legs fall open with a breathy moan. He mutters something about Makoto being impatient, to which Makoto laughs. As if he's the one pushing for the pole position!

Time seems to slow down, and Makoto forgets about the remaining exhaustion in his body when Haru starts rolling his hips forward and down. Their breaths mingle when Haru dives in for another kiss, and Makoto catches him around the neck to keep him down, stealing another kiss, then another, until they're both panting for air and the space between them starts feeling damp. Haru breaks away first, even though Makoto chases him for more. His face is flushed, mouth set in a constant pout, and Makoto suspects their kissing is to blame, at least in part. There is a determined tension in his jaw, an expression Makoto knows well. Smiling, he stretches one leg, then the other, all the while feeling Haru's intent stare on his every move. It takes a considerable amount of strength to lift his hips with Haru on top, but Haru's appreciative glances make it worth the effort. Slowly, Makoto settles into a more comfortable position and feels Haru shift to accomodate it, weight settling inbetween Makoto's legs as he lets them fall apart.

Makoto bites his lips around a smile when Haru's nostrils flare on an excited exhale, hips twisting with restless impatience. It is all too clear that his composure is wearing thin, but Makoto doesn't mind – at least until Haru pushes back and dips down, lips closing around Makoto's cock in one fell swoop, tongue swiping along the head as he starts sucking.  
There's a brief moment of respite, then Makoto shudders, head to toe. He can feel Haru's lips curling into a smirk around his shaft, tongue teasing against the slit as he pulls back. So unfair! Makoto's fingers dig into the sheets, eyes rolling back into his head, but Haru is merciless. His teeth catch on Makoto's foreskin, pushing down down down, and Makoto loses himself to a string of quiet whimpers. He's too far lost to his own pleasure to notice Haru digging into the side pocket of his travel bag, retrieving a small container that he dips his fingers into. 

Breathless, Makoto grits his teeth around another moan when Haru slides one hand between his cheeks and pushes at his entrance, lips still firmly closed around his length. He's sucking slowly now, apparently not willing to risk an early release, but one finger finds its way inside, slick against his entrance. Makoto gropes for an anchor in his madness, burying the fingers of one hand in Haru's hair which is damp against his touch. It's a slow rhythm, urging in, sucking, pulling out, and Makoto's hips lurch with every maddening push of Haru's fingers. He's trembling, cursing under his breath. Haru has the nerve to look up at him through his lashes, those impossibly long lashes, and _smile_. His lips catch on the flared head again, and Makoto jerks with the sensation, curses merging with his moans as they fall from his mouth.

“Haru,“ He whines, losing all dignity to pleasure, “Haru, please. I need you.“  
Haru's smile grows wider, but he gives Makoto's cock another long drag with his tongue before drawing back. Exasperated, Makoto grabs him around the neck and pulls him up. Haru follows but curls a second finger inside, making Makoto's hips twist with pure want. Their lips meet in a frantic clash of breathless kissing, and Makoto realizes just how hard Haru is when he tips the other's chin up to suckle behind his ear and Haru _grinds_ down with a groan. The friction between them is almost too much for Makoto, and he jolts when Haru's fingers curl into him, tips brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves like he _aimed_ for it. He probably did, but that observation is lost on Makoto when his back arches off the bed in pleasure, and it takes him a moment to realize he's wheezing. Haru steals the last bit of air from his mouth, and he tumbles into a space where only Haru exists, Haru's fingers inside him, Haru's lips against his, Haru's hair tickling his forehead.

“Don't,“ Makoto's voice is barely more than a gasp, but he'll be damned if he lets Haru finish him like this, “I want all of you. Haru, _now_.“  
Haru pulls back to look at him, and his brows shoot high with the realization how close he's brought Makoto, how much he's desired. The pressure pulses hot against Makoto's belly, precum pooling in his navel where it dribbles from Haru's slit. Haru's chest bulges on a desperate inhale when Makoto traces it with one finger, trembling enough to smear white across his abs. He is close, too.

“Fuck,“ Haru finally whispers, and his features tighten when he surges against Makoto's lips, fingers pushing eagerly enough for Makoto to almost bite his tongue. He's ready to beg again, willing to do anything he can to make Haru _come closer_ , but Haru has picked up on that already. He slides down, kneeling between Makoto's thighs, gently brushing along their insides until Makoto raises one leg to rest over Haru's shoulder. They're both shaking, breaths coming in short bursts between moans and quiet pleas for more. Haru's eyes find Makoto's and he reaches for the lube container again, but this time Makoto objects. Insistently he reaches for it until Haru pours a generous amount into his palm. He comes up to rest his forehead against Makoto's, mouthing sweet nothings against Makoto's lips as a large hand finds his shaft with ease, curling around the length to slather it with sticky warmth. Haru's breath is shaky when Makoto runs a finger along the underside, and they both pull back with impatient gasps, hair sticking to each other's foreheads. There is a beat of silence, only interrupted by their trembling intakes of air, then Haru braces himself against Makoto's chest, fingers slipping from him as he settles inbetween his legs again.

When Haru pushes forward, Makoto arches off the bed again, all conscious thought shattering with the feeling of Haru's cock breaching his rim, and he tries to relax while still pulling him closer, he wants him so much _closer_ , but Haru is there, slowly lowering himself into this space of intimacy and heat, composure crumbling when Makoto twists his hips down, right into the pressure.

“Oh god, you're beautiful,“ Haru moans and briefly catches Makoto off guard. He blinks against the pleasure building behind his eyes, tries to find Haru's face in the haze and stares at him with something that he hopes looks mildly offended.

“Don't make fun of me,“ He says and means it. He is the one to tell Haru how beautiful he is, how his hair frames his face like black silk and his eyes shine brighter than the ocean below on their transatlantic flights. The offense in his tone is lost to a blissful moan when Haru sinks himself deeper into him and heat spikes up his spine, breath hitching on a sigh. “I dare you,“ He adds and is met with quiet laughter, breathless but ecstatic.  
“'m not making fun of you.“ They both jolt with pleasure when Makoto clenches, tight eagerness swallowing Haru whole, but Haru's voice is stern when he speaks up again, “It's time you start believing it.“

Their exchange is interrupted by the desperate need for air and Haru's insistent push for more. Makoto can almost taste the orgasm by this point, but he's not willing to let go just yet, even as his whole body jerks with the next roll of Haru's hips. They grind together, sweat dampening the space between them, and Haru claims Makoto's mouth with a sloppy kiss, hot and messy with passion. Makoto meets him halfway, pulling him down with both arms wrapped around his back and neck. Haru's shoulders are shaking with the strain of staying so low, or maybe it's the rising anticipation, Makoto doesn't know. His tongue dives in for another kiss, brushing along Makoto's lower lip until it falls open and he licks inside.

Full-body shudders are wrecking Makoto's body when Haru finally starts convulsing, features straining with a mix of pleasure and desperation. He groans when Makoto reaches around and squeezes his butt cheek, fingers digging into the firm flesh to feel it flexing against his palm, breath falling short again when fire starts erupting at the base of his spine.  
The heat is blinding and all-consuming, the tension bursting from his belly and pooling into his groin. Haru's nails dig into Makoto's shoulders, but he's barely feeling it through the pressure coiling in his gut until it snaps, shooting straight into his thighs and the space inbetween. Light is flooding his vision, and he squeezes his eyes shut to ease the sensation even as Haru cups his face with both hands, tremors shaking both of them.  
“Look at me,“ Haru gasps, words laced with firm sincerity, and it's enough for Makoto to crack his eyes open. The moment their eyes meet, the heat starts welling over. Makoto's spine snaps rigid and sparks erupt behind his eyes, but he refuses to close them again, and so he can watch Haru's shoulders lurch forward as he shakes with the force of their mutual feeling, jaw quivering until he falls into Makoto's arms and presses his face against Makoto's neck. The fire is still coursing through Makoto's veins as he holds him, release screaming through him to match Haru's spilling into him.

They collapse into each other's arms, limbs tangling in a mess of satisfaction and exhaustion, and Makoto chides Haru languidly for sucking more bruises against his throat when he really couldn't care less.

-

The sun is still rising higher, painting the room in vibrant orange, its light bleeding down the curtains in deep red. The heat is claiming the room from outside, but it's barely noticeable in the damp space of a vibrant, brilliant afterglow.  
Haru's hips are still twitching when Makoto starts gingerly flexing his thighs around his waist, combing shaky fingers through his hair. He's tensing up to meet Haru's gentle push, and the tightness is enough to make Haru whimper against his neck.

Makoto's laugh is breathless. “Good morning, Haru.“  
Haru cranes back just enough to rock them both with the force of it, dropping his head immediately with a soundless moan. Slowly he pushes up again, careful not to create more friction than necessary this time, and meets Makoto at eye level. “Hey,“ He greets, voice barely more than a murmur, but his lips are curling into one of those impossibly handsome smiles, and Makoto sighs in quiet bliss.

“How are you even real,“ He closes his eyes around the memories of each and every one of their movements on this morning while Haru suckles on his chin, “I think I need another nap.“  
Haru chuckles and blows cool air against his throat, still damp with sweat and heated from the exertion. He shivers.  
“We need a shower,“ Haru observes helpfully and makes Makoto groan, because, “We showered before bed, Haru.“ Haru doesn't seem impressed by his objection, shifting enough for them to slide together again, and Makoto moans, low and deep in his throat. For a moment Haru doesn't move, then he raises his eyes to look at him. His irises are dark with desire, making Makoto choke on his next breath, and he's biting his lip in an apparent attempt to keep himself – from doing what?

“You really have to stop doing that,“ Haru breathes, and he sounds like he's struggling with every single word, “Moan like that again and I'm not going anywhere.“ He leans down to lick over the bruises he's sucked into Makoto's neck to emphasize the statement. As if Makoto needed a confirmation for that. He's writhing below Haru, bucking his hips in an attempt at finding the pressure he's seeking, and Haru thrusts down just enough for Makoto's length to grind against his stomach. Sparks soar behind his eyelids, but they're less intense than a moment ago, still bright but less blinding. A hand finds his cock where it's wedged between them and starts stroking, pumping lightly, while Haru's weight settles a little lower on the bed. Makoto is wondering briefly if he's going to withdraw now, but this string of thought is torn violently when Haru hilts him again in one slick glide, and Makoto _yells_.

He's panting, trying to find the words to call Haru out for _driving him straight into heart attack territory_ , but failing when Haru angles himself a little differently and finds that sweet spot again that drives Makoto into insanity. It's a manic experience, moving without really moving, hands grasping for something, _anything_ , and hanging on for dear life. Fireworks are lighting up behind his eyes, the flames licking up his thighs again. Haru somehow manages to get through to him when he gasps, “See? Beautiful,“ then Makoto arches off the bed again. He's clenching and he knows it, desperately trying to find stability in control, but Haru isn't giving it up so easily.  
They slide together in a maddening rhythm of friction and release, and Haru's movements become more erratic the longer they are moving this way. He's pumping Makoto's base until he clenches hard and Haru jerks, making Makoto gasp with the sudden pressure, and he brushes against that bundle of nerves once more. The fireworks explode.

With a full-body shudder, Makoto snaps up, eyes rolling back into his head. He's on fire from head to toe, and Haru's heat fills him from inside again. He vaguely notices his own hand stumbling across his stomach to grip his own cock, stroking himself for a moment longer to keep the waves of pleasure rolling.  
This time Haru collapses immediately, weight of his body sinking down on top of Makoto. He's busy just remembering how to breathe, heart hammering against his ribcage. Haru seems to feel the same, fingers dancing a wobbly rhythm across his skin until Makoto takes his wrist and traces the bones with his lips.

“Alright,“ He puffs, “I yield. Take me to the shower, Haruka.“  
There's a gasp that has nothing to do with their need for air, and Makoto glances down to find Haru staring up at him. Their eyes meet, but Haru is the one to look away first. A blush is creeping up his damp cheeks. Without a word he slips away, and Makoto might be worried, if not for the obvious flush that graces his shoulders and the sides of his neck as well. He's feeling empty and cold in places Haru occupied until a moment ago.  
Slowly he rolls over and turns to the bathroom door Haru has walked through until he hears water running. A lot of water. And it's not in the shower.

Makoto is smiling brightly when Haru returns. There's a scowl on his face, but his cheekbones are still dusted with red.  
“We're taking a bath,“ He proclaims and slides back into bed. Makoto's smile is growing wider, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.

They're snuggling together underneath the covers until the sound from the bathroom suggests that there is enough water in the tub. Again it's Haru who gets up and checks on the state of things. The rushing sound trails off, then Haru comes back into sight. Makoto is on his feet by now, a little wobbly from the exhaustion – that might very well become a habit of his, he thinks –, but Haru doesn't let him walk. Carefully he picks him up and staggers at first, energy levels dangerously low for him too, but Makoto trusts him to keep them both safe. He always does.  
Haru sets him down on the edge of the tub before slumping down on the toilet seat. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, so Makoto climbs into the tub first. His thighs are calling offense, but he's settling in quickly enough. Haru follows suit, making himself comfortable between Makoto's legs. For a while they don't move much, too tired to expend any more energy. Makoto lets his head drop after a while, chin resting against the back of Haru's head. 

They're snuggling together in silence, quiet splashing the only sounds to break it until Haru clears his throat. Once, then a second time. Makoto blinks from where he's been dozing, and he lifts his chin when Haru mumbles something unintelligible. He hums to indicate he's listening, but Haru needs two more attempts to speak up.  
“Say it again,“ He mutters under his breath, barely audible, but clear enough for Makoto. He can feel the smile tugging at his lips.

“Haruka?“  
There it is again, the bright blush flooding Haru's skin, and even though Makoto can't see his face this time, he knows it's flushed all over. Goose bumps spread along Haru's shoulders and up his neck, and Makoto traces them with his lips. “Haruka,“ He repeats and feels Haru tremble against him, “Haruka.“

He isn't sure what makes his name so special, or what makes him qualified to use it. What Makoto is sure of is that Haru appreciates the way he says his name, and so he does it a few more times until Haru shoves his knee and complains because, “That's enough.“  
Makoto chuckles and wraps his arms around Haru's middle. They sit like this for a while, Haru's back against Makoto's chest, until Haru picks a sponge from the shelf above the bathtub and turns around. The red tint is still in his cheeks, but it's faint now, and he smiles bashfully when Makoto lifts his chin with one hand. They kiss while Makoto scoops handfuls of water over Haru's back, making him hum in quiet bliss.

When they're both as clean as they get, Haru slips out of the tub to retrieve the telephone from the bedroom and passes it to Makoto. They order two breakfast plates – “with food, please!“ – and eat in the tub. The water starts cooling down too soon, so Haru drains half of it and draws more steaming water from the faucet while Makoto feeds him with slices of baguette, scrambled eggs and sips of orange juice. They laugh about the increasing number of wrinkles all over their hands and feet, and Haru showers Makoto with a spray of foam when he dares point out that Haru's eyes must have gotten soaked as well. They laugh about the croissant Makoto thinks is a normal bun, so he puts cheese on it just to find out it's stuffed with chocolate. In the end they share the offensive piece of bread, and Haru finds that it's not half bad.

The clock is long forgotten by the time they finish breakfast. Haru slips into his bathrobe to get rid of the tray and returns with their shaving supplies, insisting Makoto owes him a proper shave.  
Makoto is all too happy to comply, covering Haru's face with foam just to find it really doesn't taste good during their next kiss. He's still coughing when Haru lifts a leg out of the tub, dripping warm water all over Makoto before placing it in his lap. The expression on his face is downright complacent, but he raises an innocent brow when Makoto runs a hand all the way up his thigh. It's not his hand he wants, and Makoto understands quickly enough.

It's almost 3 in the afternoon when they get out of the tub, clean and sated. Haru's legs are entirely smooth, and he rubs them up and down against Makoto's calves when they sit on the bed again, making Makoto chuckle.

“If you like this so much, why don't you do it more often?“ Haru looks at him, then down at his legs. He hums pensively before sliding closer to cup Makoto's face with his hands. “I like that you did it,“ He says simply.  
Makoto gets that. After he finished shaving Haru's legs and face, Haru took his turn to shave him clean, and he realized quickly that shaving himself is nothing compared to the thrill of having Haru run the blades along his jaw. It's exciting and relaxing all at once, the feeling of being pampered one he enjoys maybe a little too much right now. The appreciation they both get out of taking care of each other like this is special and precious.

“Mm,“ Makoto leans in to nuzzle Haru's hands with his nose, then runs his mouth through the palms. The touch feels good against the smooth skin of his jaw. “Let's take another nap, Haruka.“  
Haru's face is a sunrise, bright and beautiful with color. He swallows, starts to turn away, then thinks better of it and climbs into Makoto's lap to kiss him breathless. With a graceful twist of his hips he crosses his ankles behind Makoto's back, legs brushing up against his sides. Makoto hums with open admiration, startling Haru's flush back to full force. Before he can speak – and potentially embarass him again –, Haru silences him with another kiss. He untangles his legs and knocks Makoto over, climbing on top until he can settle down against his chest.

They spend the afternoon huddling up between pillows and sunshine, exchanging kisses to the top of each other's head for hickeys and making plans for the evening. Makoto starts humming “Aux Champs-Elysées“ halfway through their brainstorming, making Haru chuckle and swat at his face with a pillow in an attempt to silence him until giving up, smothering his entire face with butterfly kisses.

It's peaceful, Makoto finds. As hectic as their life gets at times, as much do they need to slow it down at others.

Home isn't a place, it's a feeling. A feeling he's only ever found in the link with another person, _this_ person.

Haru listens to his heartbeat for a while, then Makoto starts humming again. Quietly. Personally. Tomorrow is still far away, and time spent together is never wasted. That's what he believes.


End file.
